The Belly of the Beast Chapter One
by Jennifer Kofler
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is the subject of scientific experimentation by Doctor Jenna zan Arbor.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own George Lucas. This fic is based upon the novel "The Evil Experiment" by Jude Watson. "The Evil Experiment" is part of the Jedi Apprentice series, which I did NOT write myself.

Anakin Skywalker lay on the table before representatives of the senate. In his half-conscious state, Anakin could do nothing more then lie down on the table, feeling his body tingle with the effects of the sedatives. A cresendo of voices hummed around him. His eyes could barely identify anything; he could only see colors and blurry shapes moving around him. It was the drugs, of course, that kept his body weak and his mind dizzy and clouded. He could make out five people, maybe six. A deep throbbing beat deep inside his skull. The light hammered on his newly awakening eyes.

A beautiful female voice addressed the senators.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate," said one of the moving, blurry figures. "I am Jonna Antari and I have been chosen to represent Doctor Jenna Zan Arbor for you today. Doctor Jenna Zan Arbor and the staff of the Republic Jedi Research Institute would like to formally thank you for your support in authorizing our experiments. Thanks to you, the galaxy will finally begin to understand the mysteries of the Force." Applause rang through the room. A journalist's droid hovered at eye level, circling Jonna. The droid was recording the conversation, switching it's attention between Jonna and the senators as the conversation progressed. A bright green line on it's screen flacuated with speech and sound.

"The particular Jedi you see before you today is an 18-year-old Padawan learner named Anakin Skywalker," Jonna went on. "He is one of the many specimens we have taken from the Temple just some fourteen hours ago. He will be moved to our research facility here on Naboo shortly. He, like the other specimens in our facilities, will be used for experiments in the study of the Force. We would like to thank the Senate for the equipment they have provided for our research." Anakin tried to rise from the table, but he couldn't move his arms up more than an inch. His muscles felt limp and useless, like stone. He had felt so weak in his life. The drugs were probably to blame.

The media droid whirred in to get a better look at him. The lense on the front of the sphere rotated and clicked. The outer casing of the droid was metallic silver. Its lense watched him with great curiousity, like a great mechanical eye. He lay his head back down. "Are they any questions regarding our research?" the voice asked. "Yes, I have a question about the boy on the table over there," said a cheery female voice. "Is he all right? He looks sick." "I assure you, he is perfectly healthy," said Jonna. "We just sedated him prior to bringing him here, and the drugs are still wearing off. Next question, please." By now, Anakin's vision was clearing up. Basic forms and shapes were visible now; Jonna's slender sillouete was visible, but layered on top of it was her ghostly double.

"I've heard you are planning to do certain… surgeries on them, is that correct?" asked another senator. "We are," Jonna said. "But don't worry; the surgical procedures we will be using are perfectly safe. We promise that our Jedi specimens will not be harmed. We have the best surgeons in the galaxy at our disposal."

"Excellent, do you know when we'll receive a status report of your progress?" the same senator asked. "Within three to four weeks," Jonna replied. "By then we hope to have a great deal of discoveries to report." "Do you feel the senate has provided sufficient funding?" the voice of a male senator asked. "The senate has given very generously," Jonna said. "And we thank them for their funding. I personally feel that our operation is going well, and that we have enough funds. However, you'd have to take that up with Doctor Zan Arbor. She keeps track of our finances." "Are the Jedi here being treated humanely?" asked the female senator. "Yes, of course," Jonna said. "We provide for all their needs and treat them with respect." _Treat us with respect? _Anakin thought. Y_ou're feeding them such lies._

"If you have any concerns about the treatment of our specimens, please, let us know," Jonna. "Would you mind if I took a closer look at the Padawan?" asked the female senator. "No, not at all," Jonna said. One of the blurry figures moved toward Anakin. He felt a soft hand gently stroke the side of his face.

"Poor thing, he's just a boy," she said. "He's so young, isn't he?" The senators murmured in agreement.

Anakin's muscles began to burn as they woke up. The drug that had subdued them had worn off. Blinking was comfortable now; his eyes were waking up. Objects were falling back into focus. With his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air, he only managed a few mild coughing noises. Summoning strength from the Force, he fought the drug and found the voice he needed to speak. A few syllables broke free of his lips, one at a time. "Wh-" Then the rest. "Why?"

Every senator in the room fell silent. Their mouths were wide open, and their expressions were solemn. The female senator fell back into the crowds. "Why?" he asked again. "Why are you doing this to us?" Tears swelled up in his eyes. "We didn't do anything! Why are you doing this to us?" The words cracked from his dry throat. Anakin stretched out his mechanical arm towards the senators, his black skeletal fingers extended. Strength pouring back into his body, he could move in with ease. "Help me…" he begged. "Don't leave me here… Where's my master… Obi-Wan…" Panic filmed Jonna's eyes. Obviously the confrence did not go as planned. She stepped aside discretely, and the awed senators didn't even notice her as she pulled out her comlink. She pressed a button and whispered into it.

Doctors rushed in, their expressions masks of panic. "Don't leave me here!" he screamed after the senators. The tears were flooding down his face by now. One of the doctors bent down and murmured soothing words in his ear.

"Shh. It will be alright... you don't need to worry... it's going to be okay... just be nice and quiet."

Anakin felt the momentum of table moving as they carted him out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

The Supreme Chancellor Palpatine leaned against the durasteel railing of the hovering podium in the Senate Chamber. His powerful voice was amplified tenfold by the enormous chamber. The vastness of the chamber made it prone to echo; every word he spoke hung in the air a moment after. Beside him stood the petite figure of Jenna Zan Arbor, who Padme had easily identified by the mop of bright red hair that sat on her shoulders. Jenna was completely sedate, her face a mask of calmness. If she was nervous about the meeting that was about to take place, she did not show it.

Looking around the Senate Chamber, Padme Amidala could vividly remember the awe she had felt when she first laid eyes on the massive network of seating pods covering the lavender walls. Layer upon layer of pods cascaded down to surround the podium. The pattern in which they were arranged created an almost hypnotic effect. She had never known that people could build such structures. "Amazing, isn't it?" Bail Organa had whispered in her ear. "That's the look I had on my face when I first saw the Senate Chamber." Of course, she had been nervous the first time she'd spoken in front of the Senate. To be truthful, that nauseating fear that sat in the pit of her stomach still came sometimes. But she had grown accustomed to these anxieties, and had learned to master them.

"Jenna Zan Arbor," the Chancellor said, "Has generously offered to conduct the Jedi research project for the Senate, leading the Republic Jedi Research Institute as a non-profit organization, generously donating her time so that we may learn the mysteries of the Force. For this, she forever has my admiration. She has committed herself to this cause without expecting anything in return."

The Senate chamber filled with applause that was as loud and powerful as thunder. Underneath the hood that curtained his face, Palpatine flashed a smile that made his face fold into wrinkles. Beaming with satisfaction from the response, the Chancellor raised his hands for quiet.

"However," he continued, losing his ecstatic grin. "Not everyone is so content with the institution Zan Arbor has founded. I respect their opinions entirely; that is why I have allowed them to plead their case before the Senate."

He stretched out an arm towards her pod. "You may proceed, Senator Amidala."

Padme rose from her seat. "Fellow Senators," she said. "Friends, brothers; I beseech you on behalf of those who are suffering. Jenna Zan Arbor has tricked a very large portion of the Jedi into agreeing to be the subjects of her experiments."

A crescendo of gasps and murmurs went up through the Senate Chamber.

"Senator Amidala, child," the Chancellor said. "You do not understand. The Jedi agreed to these experiments. They signed commitment documents with their own hands. They are completely in agreement with Zan Arbor's plans."

"They were tricked!" Padme insisted. "They were tricked and before they realized it, it was too late. They had already signed the commitment documents."

"They know full well what they are doing," the Chancellor said.

He leaned forward in his podium. "What exactly are you accusing Zan Arbor of?"

"Of lying to us!" Padme replied. "And of deceiving the Jedi."

The Chancellor shrugged. "They did agree fully to the experiments."

"How can you say that?" demanded Padme, frustration seeping into her voice. "After all the Jedi have done for us, how can you say that?"

The Chancellor raised a hand to her. "I know you are upset," he said. "But the Jedi are there by the decisions they have made themselves, at no fault of Zan Arbor's," he said.

"Besides-" He smiled contently. His voice was filled with delight again. "The medical research done there will do the people good."

Padme's frustration exploded.

"It is wrong!" Padme screamed.

"You seem to be forgetting that this woman-" She thrust a finger at Jenna Zan Arbor. "This woman has a criminal record with the Republic an inch thick. We have no logical reason to trust her. She is a criminal who has compromised human life for her experiments, and we have just handed her several thousand new specimens!"

"Senator, control yourself!" the Chancellor said firmly. All the patience was out of his voice.

"You will learn to speak with a civil tone when you address members of the Senate. I have heard quite enough. This meeting will recess until tomorrow. And next time, Senator, I suggest that you have solid evidence for us before making such serious accusations."

Padme stood there, mouth hanging open. The Chancellor's words had struck her stupid. A thousand eyes glared at her. Her porcelain complexion flushed red.

"But…" Padme began. A hand touched her shoulder. She turned around. Bail Organa stared sadly up at her with his soft brown eyes.

"Sit down, Padme," he said. Padme blushed. She shrank back into her pod and hid her face in her hands.

"God, Bail, I'm so stupid," she sighed. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Its okay, Padme," he said. "We haven't lost yet. If Chancellor Palpatine wants solid evidence, then solid evidence is what we'll give him."


	3. Chapter 3

"Let me out!" Anakin pounded on the door of his cell. "LET ME OUT!!!!!!"

"Do you want to settle down?" an irritated voice, male, came from the other side of the well-locked door. "Or do you want me to sedate you?" Anakin swallowed. _No thanks, _he thought. _Not again. _"The doctor will see you in a minute," the voice said. "And do yourself a favor, Jedi; try to be cooperative." Anakin sucked his teeth. He was a Jedi Knight –or, near achieving that rank– and yet he'd been plucked out of his home and thrown into this nightmare of a life he was expected to adapt to. How could they treat him with such disrespect? The role of a lab specimen was above his rank and dignity.

He hungered to get out of the white, padded room they'd locked him up in. There were no windows in the cell, and Anakin couldn't tell if it was night or day. But his eyes felt heavy with sleep, which was a sure sign that it was late. He slumped down on the floor. _I'll never get used to living here,_ he thought.

He fingered the tiny bald spot on his head where his Padawan braid had been before the doctor had cut it off. "But why?" he had asked her when she had told him she had to cut it off. "Hey, I'm just following orders," the doctor had told him. "Besides, what good would a Padawan braid do you if you'll never be knighted?" Then she'd taken hold of his head, vibro-razor humming, and sheared it off. Anakin just stared in shock as his Padawan braid, which had grown with his bond to Obi-Wan, was cut off and thrown in the waste disposal. He could still feel the sickening vibrations against his skull.

His clothes had been disposed of, too. He'd been given loose, white garments, with the RJRI emblem stitched into the fabric across the breast.

A Jedi was supposed to accept change, Anakin had been taught. They were supposed to be calm in capture and sedate in the face of death. Live for justice, die with honor. It was the Jedi way, the code they lived under until the day that they returned to the force, forever one with the energy that poured into every nook and crevice of the galaxy.

Zan Arbor had hidden a detail in the contracts that slipped the attention of the Order. He could remember signing the documents himself. He stated that he agreed, in full, to allow Zan Arbor to treat him for the virus.

He was one of the lucky ones, spared from the more vicious symptoms of the virus. Like those horrible sores, for instance; Deep red rings, about an inch in diameter, which covered the skin and itched brutally. When a sore healed, a white scar took its place. One of the knights – Luminara was her name- had scratched them so violently she'd broken the skin, leaving small scraping wounds all over her limbs. Her condition made him appreciate his own, less severe symptoms. Muscle spasms pinched his nerves, sometimes so intensely he vomited. Many days were spent bathed in the heat of a fever. The sweat was pouring from his body, and every attempt to cool down seemed in vain, though Obi-Wan had told him his hands still felt clammy and cold.

His Master's symptoms had been even worse. He wondered if there was logic in what Obi-Wan had said, that is was possible the virus was man-made, used as a weapon.

Anakin harbored a deep nervousness for the experiments that lay ahead. Didn't Jonna Antari mention surgeries to the senators? _Oh, force, no!_ They couldn't do anything that severe and evade consequence – could they? He reminded himself he shouldn't panic without more information. It might turn out he wouldn't have surgeries at all. And even if he did, they had talented surgeons who knew the tricks of their trade well. Still, the thought of going under the knife did not soothe his anxieties.

The small roving camera mounted on the ceiling completed another sweep of the room, a mute testament to the lack of privacy. It was late, and his body was ready for sleep. He propped himself up against a padded corner. He counted the camera's movements until sleep came.


	4. Chapter 4

Anakin spent his days in that cell drifting in and out of consciousness. He rubbed his eyes. He slept for numberless hours and yet not matter how much he slept, he never seemed to satisfy his body's hunger for rest. He could not grasp why he was so drowsy all the time. He would have liked to meditate or stretch his muscles, but his body wouldn't let him do anything but sleep. He began wonder if they'd slipped him anything. It wasn't a pleasant, natural sleep either; his muscles did not relax, and he did not dream. When he drifted out of consciousness, a most unnatural feeling came over him. It felt like sinking, sinking down into that blackness. It was a bizarre sensation. Part of him stayed awake, too. He knew his body was sleeping, but his mind was still active.

After another 4-hour nap, he'd woken up and tried to communicate with Obi-Wan. He'd reached out with the Force; felt it's bizarre energy hum through the air. His mind became clear, and he existed in the energy of the Force, and let his mind become one with it, as he let his thoughts flow to Obi-Wan. To communicate with his Master, it was essential that his mind be clear, and he required absolute concentration. It was difficult exercise, and, even after a near decade of practice, he still hadn't mastered it.

But he'd fallen asleep again. _Oh well_, he thought. _Not like there was anything to do but sleep anyways. _

The experiments had yet to begin. He'd been here a week already and they hadn't even taken so much as a blood sample yet. The week was entirely uneventful except for one doctor who visited him, carrying a holo-chess board under his arm. The dark-skinned man was middle aged; his round face was lined and smiling. Grey was crawling through his hairline. He wore the customary white uniform of the RJRI.

"What do you want from me?" Anakin asked. He yawned widely and stretched his arms.

The doctor shrugged. "I thought we might play a game."

The doctor fell forward on his knees and placed the holo-chess board before him. When he was comfortably seated, he placed a data-pad beside him. He seemed so friendly Anakin almost let his guard down. While they talked he kept his eyebrows narrowed, like he was thinking deeply.

"You like holo-chess?" he asked.

Anakin shrugged. "I played it once or twice at the temple with Obi-Wan. It's okay, I guess." He sat up in perfect Jedi position. The doctor activated the chess board, and all the holo-graphic figures appeared.

"Your move," he told Anakin.

Anakin thought for a moment. "Knight to D-3," Anakin instructed the holo-chess board. _Holo-chess, _he thought. _I can't believe it. Why holo-chess? _One of the holographic figures dissolved. It materialized a moment later on a different square of the glowing blue grid. The doctor looked deeply at the board and nodded thoughtfully. Then he scribbled something down on his data-pad.

"Emperor to A-7," the doctor said finally. "So, what's your name, son?"

"Uh… Anakin Skywalker."

The doctor nodded. "So, Anakin, do you miss your friends?"

Anakin shrugged. "I don't have a lot of friends other than Obi-Wan." The doctor arched an eyebrow.

"So, this Obi-Wan character… he's your Master?"

Anakin nodded. "Is there any way you can arrange a meeting with him?" he asked. "When we were taken from the Temple, we were separated, and I don't know where he is."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "What's your Master's name?"

"Obi-Wan," Anakin replied. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Well, Anakin," the doctor said. "I'll have to talk to my superiors about that." Anakin made another move on the chess board, and the doctor made another note on the data-pad.

"But… will I get to see him?" The doctor shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I'll see what I can do. Pawn to H-14." The holographic characters changed position.

As the game progressed, the doctor seemed only absorbed in this chess game. The funny thing was, Anakin observed, that he was playing brutally. He wasn't really paying attention to his own tactics, but seemed to study Anakin's with great curiosity.

"You know, the experiments are going to start soon," the doctor said. "Probably the first one will take place tomorrow." The doctor made another move on the holo-chess board.

A rush of panic ran through Anakin. The doctor must have noticed the blood leaving his face. "You have no need to worry," he assured him. "They'd never do anything too drastic on the first experiment. Knight to G-7. "

"Zan Arbor doesn't know what she's doing," Anakin said.

The doctor looked up from the chess-board. "She doesn't?" he asked. "Why not?" Anakin smiled with satisfaction.

"She can't fully understand the Force." He threw up his arms. "She can't."

The doctor licked his dry, chapping lips. "Oh? And why is that?"

"She thinks she can decipher the Force by experimentation and science," he said. "She thinks the secret lies in our bodies." He shook his head.

"But she can only find out so much that way. The Force is in the mind. Understanding it takes wisdom." His raised his chin. "She cannot apprehend it with scientists like you."

Content with that knowledge, Anakin turned his attention back to their game. "Emperor to E-8."

The doctor smiled. He laughed through his nose. "I am not a scientist," he said. "And I'm not a doctor either." He pointed a finger to his chest. "I am a psychologist. You say you cannot fathom the Force just with science; you are correct."

The doctor laced his fingers together. "So we are studying the mind as well."

The doctor gestured to the holo-chess board. "Don't you see?" he asked. "This is not a game. This exercise was intended to analyze your tactics, the way you approach a mental challenge."

The doctor leaned back and stretched. "One of many psychological experiments yet to come."

Anakin was awe-stricken. "I don't believe this," he muttered.

Perhaps Zan Arbor wasn't as blind as he'd thought.

"Now," the doctor said. "We're were we?" Ah, yes. Pawn to A-12…"


	5. Chapter 5

She was sleeping, Marx realized. Working round the clock had forced her to finally crash. Exhaustion had painted dark circles around her eyes. She looked 10 years older than she had three days ago, when the experiments had begun. She didn't seem to need sleep or food; pure curiosity seemed to fuel her research. The financial papers and reports were sloppily heaped on the floor next to her desk. She ignored them; for now she wanted to test drive her newly acquired resources.

She'd forgotten to turn off her data-pad. A holographic helix rotated in mid-air above the pad, a model of Marx' DNA. The midi-chlorians in the twisted ladder were lit up as blue splotches.

She was badly overworked. Ever since the RJRI had opened, she'd studied Marx indulgently. She'd worked day and night over the data-pad, analyzing samples. Finally fatigue had forced her to rest. The state she was in looked agonizing; the limp dangling of the limbs, the body hanging riskily far over on the edge of the lounge chair, the awkward backward fold of the neck. It looked like she'd collapsed down on her back and stayed that way. She was spread out, her body forming a cross on the lounge chair. _About high time she gave it a rest,_ Marx thought. Besides, he could do with a rest, too.

Electric waves slid soundlessly over the top of the chamber, gliding on the invisible containment field. Marx had twice tried to touch it. He'd felt static sparks crackling under his fingertips, and purple electric fuzz formed against the shield. The shock was not painful as much as bizarre, a powerful tingling. After the hand was pulled away, the fingertips felt white hot. The feeling spread, soon the whole hand was filled with a sensation like the muscles were fusing together. One thing was clear; he was not getting out without say from her console.

Marx had analyzed the architecture of the chamber. The electric field, he observed, was projected by six devices, each planted on the six large steel ribs that wound around the back of the chamber. The ribs came around only three quarters of the circumference of the chamber, leaving a wide gap open for a door. The spine of the chamber came out of the floor to support the ribs. Mounted on the spine was a panel, to which Marx' body was bound with cloth straps.

Marx examined the field generators. They seemed to be luminous blue plates, purring with an electric current. Maybe he could shatter them somehow… No. That would wake her. He studied the dance of the electric waves for a moment more. The purple rays spiraled and coiled. Another one swept across the field, a thin ribbon of light. He nodded slowly to himself, smiling with satisfaction. Now he saw a way to get out of the chamber.

Grasping the Force, he focused it on one section of the field. Instantly it responded, crackling static. The energy rays were confused, their dance disrupted. They bounced around wildly on the breaking field. Using the Force, he began to cut into the field. Marx sliced the field open lengthwise, the gap leaving a path of static in its wake. Good. He'd opened it. Now all he needed to do was widen it. He lodged the fibers of the Force into the slit he'd made. His hands guiding the Force, he pulled at the edges, forcing the gap open. It expanded, static trembling at the edges. Now it was wide enough to step through.

There was only one problem. The chamber had an acute system of sensors that recognized vital signs. If he left, the sensors would realize there was no living body in the chamber and set off the alarm apparatus. No matter. He knew how to solve this.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Filling his lungs with oxygen, he breathed in the living Force. The vision took no time to form; the minute he summoned the Force the picture was perfectly lucid. In his mind he could feel, almost see, the Force swirling around him in perfect forms that felt real. In this vision, it was silver and glossy, almost metallic, like molten iron. The formless illusory substance drifted all around him, ready for his use. It hung suspended in the expanse of his imagination; rushing in torrents, cascading in showers, and gushing in rapids. The substance reacted to his thoughts, the liquid wavering.

The Force knew what he needed it to do. One of the strings broke off from the rest, pouring itself over to him in fluid motions. It began to circle him. Another strand joined it, and another. The strands began to bend towards him, joining the flow. The strings began to swarm, revolving around him like a whirlpool. Slowly, he extended out one arm and dipped it into one of the streams. Once the substance had touched a part of his hand, it began to slowly slither up his arm, absorbing him. The Force co-operated with him fully, helping him knit its power into his flesh.

Marx kept the streams around him flowing slowly. He needed to complete this exercise gradually. It was meticulous process. The streams pouring the Force onto his body were almost moving in slow motion and his mind kept them flowing that way. The trick was to make sure he did not take more power than he could handle at one time. If he took too much, and let the Force gush instead of trickle, he'd be in over his head. The last time this occurred, the feeling was overwhelming, suffocating.

More ribbons of the silver element fell slowly down on him from above, winding itself around his shoulders. He let the substance swallow him up, using his mind to braid its tendrils around his body. When he was fully wrapped up in the silvery material, he stepped forward, splitting himself from the anatomy he had created. After his body slipped from the liquid, it stayed intact, in the form of a human being. He pumped more Force energy into the anatomy to give it an artificial heartbeat, and mentally molded the veins and arteries to form the bloodstream.

It was a unique talent he possessed; to make a carbon copy of himself, to split his being in two and let a part of him stay in the chamber. He'd only discovered it mere weeks ago, and had told no one, not even his Master. How could he possibly explain it to someone else when he barely understood it himself? He would tell his Master, eventually. But for now there were so many unknowns, so many questions I need of answers. When he learned more about his gift, he promised himself, he would tell his Master, maybe Yoda.

His creation finished, he opened his eyes. The gap in the field was still open, inviting him out.

Marx slowly limped out of his electric chrysalis. When he passed through the field, the alarm system was not set off. The gap in the field collapsed, the electric waves falling back to their dance. According to the computer, a living organism was still in the chamber, vital signs still showing. Yet the chamber was empty.

His leg was throbbing with pain that lay deep in the muscle. It was from a needle that had extracted bone marrow for analysis. Even three days later, the pain had not flagged. Marx hoped that it would get better. He was no medic, and he didn't know if bone marrow extractions left permanent damage. What if he kept the limp for the rest of his life? It might put him out of commission for good, and force him to retire before he was even knighted. He hoped it would start healing soon, or it might affect his training when he got home. _If_ he got home.

Marx walked over to where she slept. He stood over her. Her mouth had contorted into a scowl and her eyebrows were scrunched together. It seemed as if she were feeling pain while she slept. Her eyelids trembled briefly. Marx dipped into her mind, feeling that she was in a very deep slumber. She would not wake easily.

One of the cushions had fallen off the couch. He bowed and picked it up.

She was a cruel woman, Marx had learned. She attacked fragile emotions without reason. Did she find pleasure in his suffering? Or did she merely wish to break his spirit, hurt him until he reached an emotional numbness where he didn't care about his pain? He could vividly recall one especially brutal incident.

"Do you know why you are here, Padawan Goya?" she'd asked. "Do you know why the Senate left you to rot in this place?"

Marx had said no.

"Because," she'd said. "You are a monstrosity. A freak. That's why you're here, caged up with all the other freaks."

Even though he was almost seventeen, he'd cried. She had no motive, no reason to insult him. Did she find pleasure in his suffering? Or did she merely wish to break his spirit, hurt him until he reached an emotional numbness where he didn't care about his pain? Marx was beginning to wonder if the Force really made him special.

A thought washed over Marx. She was sleeping, he thought. And it was late at night; half the staff would be gone. He massaged the fabric of the cushion with his fingers. He looked down at her again, and anger seized him. Suppose he pressed the cushion on her face… The motions of his fingers stroking the fabric quickened. _No more needles. No more cages. No more experiments. _His fingers tightened again. She'd pay, the seductive dark voices whispered to him. She'd pay for keeping him caged like a beast. She'd pay for the torment she'd caused him. She'd pay for the mocking voice when she'd cut off his Padawan braid. She'd pay for calling him a freak. She would pay.

Marx dropped the cushion. _No. _He pushed the dark voices out of his head. What would her death solve? Nothing, only satisfy his thirst to make her pay. The fact that he'd come within a hairbreadth of revenge was bone-chilling. He felt like he was covered in a layer of dirt that nothing could wash off.

_What are you doing, Padawan?_

A voice rang out in his mind; his Master's. Was he watching him? Though his Master was on a completely different planet, at a completely different research center, he could still feel him here quite vividly. He felt like he could turn around and find himself staring into the silver rings in his Master's eyes. His Master was here; the whole room blazed with his presence.

_What are you doing?_ The voice inside his head asked again.

_Nothing, _Marx thought back.

He'd almost taken revenge, and his Master knew it.

_You would've killed her, wouldn't you? _

Marx knew that was true. He hung his head heavily.

_Yes, Master. I am sorry. _

He sniffled a little.

_Are you angry? _

The voice came again. _No. I'm not angry. _

His Master was not lying, he knew. The undercurrent of emotions in his Master's presence was not anger.

_I am proud of you. _

Marx arched an eyebrow.

_Proud of me? Why would you be proud of me? I wanted to kill someone! _

He wanted to cry. He knew didn't deserve his Master's compassion. _T_

_hese temptations do not make us sinners, _his Master's voice said. _They will be there, it is inevitable. But mastering the dark temptations makes us strong. You defeated them all on your own. _

Marx nodded. It was true. It happened to every Jedi; hearing the unearthly voices that bled into the light from the darkness. As a child, they had not touched him. But as he became older, they started to come. All Jedi started hearing them eventually.

_Thank you, _he thought back. _For being so understanding. _

His Master's presence rested on him like a blanket, and he felt a little better.

When he turned his gaze back to her, his heartbeat tripped. Her eyelids had split open, two blue eyes staring out of her sockets. Her eyes had a striking effect; the way the different shades of blue bled into each other so perfectly. The colored bands in her irises gave her eyes dimensions and depth. It seemed as if you were looking _into_ them, not just _at_ them. _If her face wasn't a mask of cruelty,_ Marx thought, _she could be pretty._

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

Marx stammered for words. She looked back to the empty cage. She ran her fingers through her red hair.

"How did you get out?" she asked.

Her eyes drifted to the console, where the vital signs of a human being in the chamber were still showing. The woman looked shocked. Her red lipped mouth was wide and gaping. Then, for the sake of not showing weakness in front of Marx, she shut it. She'd been taken off-guard, but kept her solemn expression about her.

She aimed her stone-cold gaze back at Marx, and chills ran up his spine. He tensed up his body, bracing himself for the worst. Instead, her mouth bent into a half-smile.

"Impressive," she said, giving Marx three claps of her hands.

Inwardly, Marx breathed with relief.

_She isn't angry. Thank goodness she isn't angry. _

"I look forward to hearing how you did that," she said, gesturing to the empty chamber. "With the Force, I presume?"

Hesitantly, Marx nodded.

She shook her head.

"Amazing," she said. "I knew I made no mistake when I chose you as a private specimen, Marx Goya."

With a whoosh of air, the door to the office opened, and a doctor waltzed in, her face and eyes alight with excitement.

"Doctor Zan Arbor!" she said. "I'm so sorry –I know you said not to disturb you- but you have to see this! You'll never believe what we just found!"

She pulled out components of a device.

"May I-?"

"Of course," Zan Arbor said. "Marx, go back to your cage, please."

Marx obeyed under fear of being sedated. Once back in his cage, he watched Zan Arbor and her colleague through the steel ribs.

The woman placed the components on the floor. She selected a round, heavy plate first. It seemed to be the base to something, with a grove to attach another component onto it.

Next she took a long, metal shaft and stuck one end into the grove. She held it steady with both hands, and with a flick of both wrists, the shaft clicked into place.

Then she placed some sort of light on the end of the shaft, screwing it into place.

The doctor pulled herself back up to her feet. She slipped her fingers into the pockets of her uniform. When she removed her hand it was in a fist, clasped around something. She flattened her palm.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked Zan Arbor.

Zan Arbor cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Some sort of lightsaber crystal, I suppose."

The woman held up the crystal, pinched between her thumb and forefinger. It wasn't a common lightsaber crystal, Mark noted. It was purple, like many crystals were, but it wasn't a purple he'd ever seen. It was a dark purple, so dark the crystal was almost opaque. The polished stone gleamed as light shifted from facet to facet.

"Not a common one," the doctor said. "It's an unusually pure one. You see, we've determined that the color of the crystal determines the quality. Or, more specifically, the darkness or lightness of the color. You see, this crystal is an incredible dark purple. That means it is a very high quality crystal, with great potential power."

Zan Arbor nodded.

"That is a very good discovery, Doctor Antari," she said. "I will be sure to include it in our report to the Senate. Good to know we're getting somewhere."

Antari waved her hands.

"Oh no, that's not it," she said. "I mean, yes, this discovery is an excellent one too, I can't deny. But wait until you see this."

Doctor Antari gestured towards her device.

"Anyway," she continued, "This crystal rates a twelve on the gioiello scale, the scale we developed to measure the quality of the crystal."

"So, what is the range of this gioiellio scale?" Zan Arbor asked. "One to twenty?"

Doctor Antari cleared her throat.

"The range is one to twelve," she said. "One meaning the most impure, twelve meaning the most pure and concentrated. Since this one is a twelve, it is the purest type we could possible get. A crystal of such purity is vital for what I am about to show you. Now, watch this."

She placed the crystal on the light on the device.

"Please, turn off the lights," she asked.

Zan Arbor flicked a switch on the wall, and the room was swallowed by darkness. With a click of the device, the room was light up with holographic light.

Something nebulous floated in the air around the projector. Wisps of hazy holographic flotsam drifted throughout the air. It was like a fine vapor illuminated with blue holographic light. It did not drift vacantly; it was alive and moving. Every misty loop and coil swam at a different pace.

Marx studied it carefully.

_Doesn't it seem a lot like…no, it can't be. _

He drew the Force fibers in the air to him, pulling every thread toward him. He built up his power and let his mind flood out into the room. One of the strands in the orbit of the projector came to life and extended it's self to him.

_It can't be…_

Zan Arbor was spellbound by the holographic images.

"Now that is…astonishing," she breathed.

She gaped at the holographic material with hungry eyes. She looked at Doctor Antari, her expression awestricken. She gaped for a long moment before she spoke.

"Is it…?" she said finally.

Doctor Antari's lips split into a smile.

"It is," she said.

Marx shrank back into his cage.

_Impossible! _

The word rang through his being again and again.

_Impossible! Impossible, Impossible… _

Zan Arbor nodded slowly and returned Doctor Antari's smile.

"Doctor Antari," she said. "I do believe we're seeing the Force."

Doctor Antari nodded. In the purple light, her pale face almost appeared to be luminous. Her dark silhouette stood up to its full height.

"We are, Doctor Zan Arbor," she said, pride filling her voice. "We are."


	6. Chapter 6

The severing had not been a pleasant experience, as he could vividly recall. He could still feel the bite of the lightsaber in his nerves. The force of the hit had slammed his whole body on the floor with such force that the air was sucked out of his lungs. The nerves were incinerated instantly, so he felt no pain. Instead, he felt crushing pressure above the elbow, as if someone were squeezing his arm in a death grip. They were no sharp pinpricks of pain when he'd been hit, just the steady throbbing of his body reacting to the wound. _Think of something else_, he'd told himself. _The tiles on the floor, the struts holding up the ceiling, anything. _

His blood began to drum against his temple, a sign that his wound was leaking. He pressed his aching head against the cool tiles to soothe it. _5 tiles…6, 7, 8…_ "Anakin." 9 tiles…10,11…"Anakin, stay with me." In his hazy field of vision, a white shape was visible, a luminous phantom against the darkness of its backdrop. On the dark tiles a long pale form lay folded in a soft bend. _Oh my God… it's my…_

Within his stomach, something writhed. The sight of having no arm below the elbow…and seeing the floor around him slick with gore… he became nauseated just thinking about it.

And the surgery that proceeded the severing had been absolutely gruesome. To make matters worse, once the new arm was in place the post-surgical depression set in.

The depression consumed his life. The nights were long and sleepless, filled with tossing and turning. When the nights were not insomnious, loathsome fantasies played in his mind. The nightmares were horrible; of the red showers flying, of scalpels cutting, and of that horrible mechanical limb being bound into his flesh.

He made the best of his new prosthetic limb, tinkering with it, modifying the plating and wiring. He pretended to be at ease with his new arm, for the sake of his Master's happiness. In truth, he hated the state of his body. He didn't like the half-man half-machine monstrosity that he had become.

The arm itself was creepy to him; the skeletal hand looked like someone had stripped the arm of flesh up to the elbow. It looked fragile, but it was well-built, and inhumanly strong. It consisted of a metal frame, interlocking in segments to imitate real bone structure.

Little colored wires wove in and out of the frame.

The blue ones had special sensors to pick up feeling, and acted as nerves. There were extra blue wires at the finger tips, coiled up in spirals. Upon closer inspection, the tiny blue wires were covered with a cobweb of microscopic silver wire, the powerful sensors. They were so fine that at a distance they looked like a texture.

The cables that were colored green were thick and acted as tendons. They pulled on the hand like a puppet's strings might, allowed him to move it.

The first few nights, when he lay in bed he'd see the mechanical hand flop over his shoulder and, not realizing it was his own, instinctively shoo the hand away as if it were some grotesque insect.

Once he'd even tried to pull the thing away from his body, to tear it off. He shed away the layers of plating, scraping off most of the black coating. Ripping out the little wires made his hands bleed and still he did not stop. He even tried to remove the implants attached to his flesh with his teeth. He wanted that thing off, to purge himself of the inorganic mechanism. After an hour of this, he surrendered. It was impossible, he tearfully realized, and began re-assembling the arm.

After nearly mutilating himself, he had sunk even lower, into the darkest facets of the depression. The whole experience had been hard for him, and he never once sought help from Obi-Wan. The old demons still dwelt in the fibers of his being, and they all bubbled up to the surface when the nurse came to take his arm.

Probably because its superhuman strength and hardness could make it a good weapon, he guessed.

He'd gotten dressed – it was difficult with only one arm – and was taken away for the first experiment.


	7. Chapter 7

Bail and Padme searched her whole apartment, top to bottom. They pulled apart her normally tidy home, shuffling through drawers, turning up couch cushions, dumping out storage boxes. "What are you doing?" her guest, Senator Orn Free Taa asked when he saw her completely destroying her living room. "Looking for recording devices," Padme replied without looking up from the drawer she rummaged through. "Holo-recorders or Holo-cameras, anything Palpatine might use to spy on us."

Taa looked around. "You think he might me spying on us?" he asked. Bail closed the curtains on the windows that overlooked the skyscrapers of Coruscant and the empty temple in the distance. "Yes," he said. "We can't be too careful. Not with guy like Palpatine." Padme switched off the cleaning droid. "He may even have bugged the droids," she said, pushing the deactivated droid out into the kitchen. "Palpatine?" asked Taa. Realization came over his expression. "So it is as I thought. He is conspiring with Zan Arbor, is he not?" "He may well be," Bail answered.

Padme lowered her voice. "We need to be very quiet. Someone could be listening." She re-made the couch and sat down. "Like who?" Taa asked. Padme shrugged. "Anybody could be. Palpatine has access to all sorts of spies. Bail, hit the lights." Bail pressed a button on the wall and the room went dark. Now they were invisible. "Honestly, Senator, is this all really necessary?" Taa asked. "It is," she insisted. "I don't want to get caught, Senator Taa. Palpatine will watch every move we make if he can. The Jedi are depending on us."

"Speaking of Jedi, did you hear what they did to the Temple?" Bail whispered. "No," Padme whispered back. "What? What did they do?" "Apparently the chancellor sold it to some big hot-shot casino owner for a ton of credits. And guess what? He's turning it into a resort." Padme gasped. "You're kidding!" "It's such disrespect for the Jedi!" Senator Taa said. He grunted. "A resort! I can't believe it! If they were going to sell it, they could've at least turned it into a university, or a hospital of some sort. Then at least it would do some good for the people!" "I guess there wasn't enough money in that," Bail sighed. "And, of course, he gave the money to Zan Arbor. What a surprise." "It's an outrage!" Padme said. She curled her hands into fists. "It's a sacred place! They had no right to do that to the Temple!" "It isn't the Jedi Temple anymore," Bail pointed out. "It was just an empty building waiting for someone to use it." Taa sneered, causing his many overlapping chins to fold back. "I'm just plain disgusted," Taa said. "Disgusted that Zan Arbor would do this, even more disgusted that she's getting away with it. It's insanity!" He slammed his chubby fist on his leg. Bail nodded. "And Force knows what that place is doing to the Jedi there." Padme sighed.

Pulling back the curtain and peering out at the temple filled her troubled mind with thoughts of Anakin. White tarps had been secured over the spires. Scaffolding cages barred the east wall. Most of the valuable white stone that shelled the temple walls had been removed and sold. The gardens had withered and died due to neglect, mere patches of dirt now.

She ran her fingers over the intricate carvings on wooden necklace he had given her on Tatooine some ten years ago. _Oh, Anakin. I hope you're okay. _She thought of Anakin in those research facilities. She thought of those doctors, touching him, _touching _her Ani, running their filthy little hands all over him… Her anger seized her all over again. She held the necklace to her heart. _I won't let them keep you there, Ani, _she silently vowed. _I'm not going to let you rot in that place. If it's the last thing I ever do, I swear on the Force, Ani, I'll get you out of there._ "Are you alright, Padme?" Bail asked. "You're crying." Padme touched her hand to her cheek. Her face was wet. She hadn't noticed she was crying. Padme closed the curtain again. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just… the things that they did to the Jedi… they make me so angry." She wiped her eyes. _And I'm scared, _she added silently. _I'm scared for Ani. _

"So you intend to gather some evidence against Palpatine, then?" Taa asked. Padme wiped her tears and nodded. "I do." She pulled a holocron out of the folds of her dress.

Bail's eyebrows lifted. "Wow. A whole holocron."

"This," she said, "This is Zan Arbor's criminal record. If we want to convict her, we need to know her previous strategies- how she thinks." Bail and Taa nodded in unison.

Taa raised his hand. "Ah…regarding Palpatine…what leads you to believe he is conspiring with Zan Arbor?" "Well, it does seem a little suspicious that he would work with a criminal, especially Jenna," said Padme. "It seems above his judgment." Bail nodded, deep in thought. "And you shall know them by the company they keep," he said.

Taa looked disappointed. "That's it?" he asked. Bail and Padme looked at each other. "You don't have any solid evidence?" Taa asked. "No particular incidents that would lead to this? Just a hunch?"

Padme noticed Bail was beginning to panic. Though Bail's anxiety was hidden under a veil of professional character, some of it still poked through. He had good reason for concern. If they couldn't convince Taa that theirs was a worthy cause, he could walk. His support was too valuable to lose. "Well, we're looking for evidence now," Padme. "And we will find some."

Taa rubbed his hands together. "It could cost me my reputation if we're wrong."

Padme clasped her hands together. "How about this…if I can bring you one piece of evidence, do we have your support?"

"You will," Taa said. He rose from his seat and began orienting his corpulent body toward the door. "When will I see you again?" Padme asked.

"In the Senate tomorrow," Taa called back. "And I will expect a report on your progress."


	8. Chapter 8

The doctor ran his hands down Anakin's bare legs. He cringed at the discomfort of being touched.

"You look like you lost some weight, kiddo," the doctor said.

Anakin looked down on the naked body lying on the examination table. It was true. Once he had been sinewy, his body covered with great mounds of muscle. Now his limbs were narrow and willowy as birch trunks. The new body presented the need for three new holes in his belt.

Anakin shrugged. "Being in a place like this –" He swung an arm around the cube-shaped room. "It's a lot like being in a hospital. I would've thought you'd expect me to drop a few pounds."

"Actually, you should be _gaining_ weight."

The doctor drummed his pen on his datapad.

"The nurse who takes care of you tells me you haven't been eating."

Hot patches settled on Anakin's cheeks.

"Are you going to… punish me?" his voice cracked.

"Oh, no, no," the doctor said.

The hot patches vanished.

"We're just going to fatten you up and get you eating again."

He rubbed Anakin's bare belly.

"Fatten me up?" Anakin said nervously.

The doctor walked over to one of the cabinets that lined the room and took out medical gloves.

"Must be hard on you," he said, stretching the glove over his wrists.

"Being in a place like this. You're just a kid."

The glove took the shape of his hand.

"I'm going to give you a physical, okay? You never had one."

A medical droid came in, and carried a tray of tools for the doctor. To Anakin's relief, there were no vibro-scalpels or needles to be seen.

"Good morning, doctor," the droid said in its silvery voice.

"I have brought the tools that you requested."

"Thank you," the doctor nodded.

The doctor took the tray from the droid.

The doctor selected a handheld light and shone it in Anakin's eyes.

The light made the veins in his eyes light up in orange. When the doctor pulled away the light, dark splotches floated in his vision. The doctor smiled.

"You seem like a nice kid. I think I'll like working with you. Say Ah."

Anakin opened his mouth, and the doctor shone the light on the back of his throat.

The doctor ordered the droid to close the door. The droid beeped and whirred as it swiveled to fulfill his command.

The doctor drifted to the foot of the table.

"This going to feel uncomfortable, but it'll be over in a minute. Spread your legs."

Anakin's hands clenched around the padding on the exam table. He bit his lip.

"I know," the Doctor said soothingly. "I know it feels strange...There, we're done."

The doctor discarded his gloves and exchanged them for fresh ones. Anakin fell back into a comfortable position.

He strapped Anakin's legs to the table. "What are you doing?" Anakin asked as his arms were bound too.

"I'm going to install some sensors," the doctor said. "Sorry kiddo…" The doctor adjusted his gloves. "But they have to go in your head." Anakin let out a little cry.

"Please-" he begged, but the doctor seemed immune to his pleading. Commands from the droid sent a collapsible drill folding out of the wall.

"Don't worry, you'll be completely numb," the doctor assured him.

He stuck the sleek metal tooth of a needle into his skin. All sense of feeling fled Anakin's body. He didn't even feel the doctor smearing antiseptic on his forehead.

The tooth of the drill was pressed to his left temple. The drill powered up, and its mechanical hum tickled the air in the room. Anakin flinched. The drill carved a small round well in his head from which blood came gushing and into which the sensor was implanted.

Anakin saw the blood on the doctor's hands and cried, "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!"

The doctor began wildy tearing the restraints off Anakin. "Shh, Shh. Calm down. Here, kiddo, let me hold you."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, slamming the Force against the doctor's body. He stumbled back against the wall.

Anakin burst out of the room and ran into the dark, empty room across the hall.

While he panicked in the darkness, he heard a voice across the hall mutter,

"It's obviously not within my threshold of ability to calm this kid down. Go get the one person who can; go get his Master."


	9. Chapter 9

Jenna Zan Arbor took a handful of thick tentacle and pulled. The Nautolan howled.

"Show me the force!" she said.

She screamed into Master Fisto's green face, a mask of anguish.

"Things will only get worse if you don't!"

"I don't care!" the former Jedi Master cried.

Jenna released him from her grip.

Kit fell to the floor and curled up in a ball. He put his head in his hands. Through the fingers that barred them, his great black eyes were glistening. His head tendrils were beginning to bleed at the root.

He was badly dehydrated. He hadn't been in water in days. Zan Arbor crouched down beside him.

"You need moisture," she said.

Her blue eyes blazed cruelly.

"Show me the Force. I'll put you in the artificial lake for as long as you please."

"Leave him alone," a voice said from behind her.

"Who are you to be giving orders, Jedi?"

She wheeled around to face the dark-skinned Jedi who stood in the agape threshold. Sensors hung from the side of his head. His piercing eyes stared.

"I am Mace Windu," he said.

A grunt escaped Kit's dry, chapped lips. Master Windu quickly ran over to hold him.

A devastated look fell over the human Jedi. Kit looked horrible. His jade-colored skin had flushed to a pastel green.

"You're killing him!" Master Windu shouted.

"It's up to him now whether he lives or dies," Zan Arbor said plainly. "He must show me the Force."

"I'm taking him to the artificial lake," Mace said.

Zan Arbor gestured towards the security that stood beside her, two aliens of towering height.

"You are?"

"Please," he begged.

Zan Arbor's eyebrows lifted contentedly.

"If I allow you to take him to the artificial lake," she said, "Do you agree to show me the Force in return?"

"Yes," said Mace.

"The lake is down the hallway," she said. She smiled. "I'm so _glad_ we could reach this compromise, Mace."

Mace curled his lip in disgust as he walked past Zan Arbor. Cradling Kit in his arms like a child, he walked briskly down the hallway. He hoped it wasn't too late.

In the hallway, Mace recognized Quinlan Vos by the gold band across his face, and he recognized him by nothing else. His head had been shaved.

When the entrance to the artificial lake came into view, he quickened his pace. The door opened onto the north bank of the lake.

A warm mist floated delicately over the grey waters, filling the whole chamber with a ghostly ambience. The waters were still. When Mace stepped in, it was like shattering a mirror. When he was up to his waist, he lowered Kit into the water.

On the opposite side of the lake, piles of water tumbled over cream-colored rocks.

Kit's head tendrils trailed in the water. He let a green hand slip off his hand and dangle in the water. He sighed softly.

"Are you feeling better, Master Fisto?" Mace asked. Kit responded only with another sigh.

"Master Fisto?" he asked again. Kit gave no answer.

He shook him a little, but the Nautolan only sat limply in the water.

As Mace pulled Kit's body onto the shore, he felt the presence of one of the doctors.

He picked up one of the smooth, cream-colored stones off the shore. The next second, it was only a smudge in the air, soaring towards the doctor's head. He deflected it with his clipboard.

"You people are monsters!" he screamed. The doctor stared at him with wide eyes. "I don't know how you justify this in your minds!"

The doctor tapped a panic button on his comlink, and two doctors rushed in to sedate him. They carted him off on a gurney, and before succumbing to the deep unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was Kit Fisto lying lifelessly upon the shore.


	10. Chapter 10

He stood in the doorway of the dark room, analyzing the ghost of one who had been his Padawan. He sat curled up in a dark corner, and tilted his head away from the light. He was barely recognizable; his hair was in dire need of a cut, and his eyes were wild with fear. The flesh on his face had sunken back against his cheekbones. His blood-soaked hair clung to his head, dripping down his neck and staining his baggy blue tunic. He pressed his hand to his head, trying in vain to stop the flow of blood as it streaked down his hands and arms. "You're hurt," he said to the cowering figure that sat in the darkness. "Yes, Master," a whisper breathed out of the shadows. Anakin lifted his head, and his eyes looked eagerly at Obi-Wan. "You've come to take me home?" Obi-Wan walked slowly toward him. Anakin's glassy eyes caught the light from the doorway. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't. I wish I could." Anakin sighed and put his bleeding head back down on his bony arms. Obi-Wan crouched down beside him. "You're thin," he said. "Anakin, did you lose weight?" Anakin looked up at him sadly. "Is it really obvious?" he asked. Obi-Wan reached out and placed his hand on Anakin's head. He felt something warm and slimy. He pulled back his hand and held it to the light to examine the dark liquid that was left on it.

"You need a healer," he said. "I'll go get Jonna Antari." He pulled himself up and turned to the door. "Please don't go," whispered Anakin. "Please stay." "You lost a lot of blood," Obi-Wan protested. "You need to get medical attention." "No," Anakin wept. "I don't want to go back –" he huddled against Obi-Wan's body. "I want to stay with you."

Tears fell from the tips of his thick lashes.

"Ms. Antari?" Obi-Wan called. "Anakin needs medical attention."

Jonna appeared in the doorway, and her shadow stretched out in front of her.

She stooped down to the floor. "Here, sweetie," she called. She took him by the arm. "Come with me. We'll clean up your head."

White linen sheets fell over the new bed in Obi-Wan's room where Anakin lay.

Much to the contentment of Obi-Wan, the doctor had moved them in together – it seemed vital to his mental health that he do so.

During the next few days, Anakin plumped up considerably. He ate with a good appetite.

His arms became fleshier, and his face became rounder.

After a week, the doctors came to take Obi-Wan. They did not return his for several days, and when he came back, he was in a wheelchair, too weak to walk, and very white.

He lay in bed all the time, clutching his stomach. When he slept, his face was scrunched up in suffering.

"Are you in pain, Master?" his Padawan asked from the bed where he lay resting.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied. "You see-" He opened his tunic to reveal and bold pink scar that ran down his abdomen. "I'm recovering from surgery." Anakin's watery blue eyes widened. "Force," he breathed. "It looks like they cut you open!"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said solemnly.

Anakin wanted to cry.

"Master," Anakin said drearily, "I think we're going to spend our lives in this hellhole. We'll never get out if the Senate doesn't decide to free us."

He lay on his back and spoke his words numbly.

"All else fails; we could escape," suggested Obi-Wan.

"How?" demanded Anakin. "These walls are inescapable!"  
"Perhaps not as inescapable as we thought," said Obi-Wan.

Anakin lifted himself up slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"If you had Socialization Room privileges, you would've heard," Obi-Wan said, "That someone got free. Someone escaped."


	11. Chapter 11

Quinlan Vos slipped quietly through the streets of Coruscant. Posters with his face on it decorated every wall of every street.

He shivered. It was cold and windy, and everything around him was seeped in darkness. Every burst of wind nipped at his bare flesh like a thousand needles. And here he was, without a coat and without any shoes. The polluted air and dirty ground made him filthy.

He rubbed his hands together and tried to warm them with his breath. Then he put them back in his pockets. His fingers felt the holocron containing all the RJRI's security recordings.

He hoped he wasn't attracting attention. He'd found a black robe with a hood that covered all but the bottom part of his hospital clothes. He was relying on no one recognizing them as hospital pants.

He had proof that they had abused him. He'd snatched this holocron on his way out.

Acquiring it had been no easy feat. He'd had to garrison himself in the security room, and then download all the security files while the RJRI staff banged on the door outside. He'd escaped through the air vents.

He'd been walking all night. The Coruscant facility was miles away from the residence of Mon Mothma, the senator he intended to give the holocron to.

She seemed trustworthy.

He caught his reflection in the polished shell of a parked cloudcar. He was reminded agin that his dreadlocked hair had vanished. He really wished he had his hair back. They had shaved his head as punishment for being uncooperative.

It wasn't a matter of vanity; it was a matter of identity. They had stolen part of his identity. It was the perfect way to break his spirit.

Would Aayla and Tholme even recognize him without his hair?

At last, he arrived. He walked into the lobby of the apartment where she lived.

The warmth of the building washed over him. Ah, it felt good to be out of the cold.

The lobby was tiled with white tiles, and the walls were fringed with blue. The elegant staircase that landed in the lobby was carpeted with red fabric, luxurious and thick.

"You can't come in here without any shoes," the Twi'lek receptionist said.

"I just need to give something to Senator Mothma," he said.

The receptionist eyed him down.

"Have I seen your face somewhere?" he asked.

Quinlan Vos shook his head. _Damn posters_, he thought to himself.

A Muun usher walked in to the room that moment, and pointed his long, gangly finger at Quinlan.

"Hey-You're the guy on the posters! Aelyra, call the cops!"

The receptionist picked up her com-link. He put his hand on it.

"Please don't," he said. "I don't want to go back there- you have no idea what they do to us there."

"Do it, Aelyra!"

Aelyra tapped some buttons on her comlink.

"They're on their way."

"What's going on down there?" said a voice from the top of the stairs. Quinlan turned around. Mon Mothma stood there, clad in white robes.

"Catch, Senator!" He threw the holocron overhand towards her. It soared up a dozen meters before her slender hands caught it.

"Good catch," he called over his shoulder as he ran out the door.

He froze in his track as he caught sight of a police airspeeder, two searchlights attached to its' belly. It was like the machine was walking on stilts of light.

One of the searchlights fell on him.

Quinlan ran. He darted through the arteries of the city.

He ran through one of the alleyways and tripped over a trashcan.

"Ugh," he said. He pulled himself up and found himself staring at a familiar sight.

The Temple loomed over him, veiled in darkness and scarred by construction. He wandered onto her front steps, still staring up. He placed his hands on a pillar of great girth, one of the few that hadn't been touched yet.

He looked around at the dangling tarps and broken statues. The temple had been robbed of her glory.

"What have they done to you, old friend?" he said.

An RJRI vehicle pulled up by the temple's steps. Out hopped Jonna Antari herself, who placed her hands on her hips.

"How did I know I might find you here?" she asked.

Four workers were with her.

He let them cover him with blankets and lead him to the vehicle.

He wanted to take a bath when he got back to the facility. They promised him he could.

The vehicle sped off, too fast for Quinlan to steal one last glance at the temple.


	12. Chapter 12

Rays of watery light bounced over the lid of the coffin-like metal scanner they put him in.

The drug they'd given him via needle forced him into a meditative state. His whole body tingled with the Force, but it felt… unnatural.

He floated in the water filling the tank for hours. It would have been relaxing, if the drug hadn't filled him with that strange and perverted feeling.

They had been kind enough to provide him with a clock. Luminous red numbers glowed on their screen on the side of the coffin. It was immensely claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but at least his sense of time wasn't distorted. He'd been in there five hours, only one to go. That was comforting to know.

Unexpectedly, the coffin opened early. He was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of light.

The med droid handed him his clothes. "You have a visitor," it said in its silvery monotone.

Anakin pulled on his robe. "I do?"

Anakin hoped it was Padme. What a treat it would be to see her!

The door hissed open, and an old man dressed in a robe with opulent sleeves waltzed in. Anakin a smile that made his face fold into wrinkles. He knew this face well.

Anakin's eyes blazed hatefully. "Palpatine," he said, as if the word left a bad taste on his tongue.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{

Obi-Wan lay strapped to a slightly oblique table.

Zan Arbor stood by him, running her fingers through his hair. She'd instructed the doctors to leave so she could anesthetize him.

"Well, Well, Well," she said, "If it isn't the little Kenobi boy, all grown up."

She sat down on a swiveling stool, and folded one leg over the other.

"How I've been looking forward to spending time with you."

"You won't get away with killing me, if that's what you've got in mind," Obi-Wan said bravely.

"I would very much like to kill you," she said. She cocked an eyebrow. "Jedi are supposed to have incredible tolerance for pain. Let's explore that, shall we?"

She leaned forward, and began to scratch his beard.

"I will administer a paralyzing agent. You won't be able to move-" Her eyes shone sickly.

"But you'll be awake." She grinned in satisfaction when she saw his eyes widen. She hopped off the chair. She raised a needle in the air. A shower of droplets burst from its slim metal tooth. She stuck it in his neck.

"You are going to feel _everything_."

Obi-Wan's limbs turned to stone. She took his chin between her fingers and turned his head to look her in the eyes.

"Twenty years I spent in prison," she said. "Twenty years I spent in that hellhole." Her voice trembled with hatred. "Because of **you**," she spat in his face. "I …**hate **you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

He would have retaliated, told her she was facing the consequences of her actions, but he couldn't move his tongue.

She closed his eyelids with her fingers. "Have fun," she said. "You're going to wish you'd never been born."

Obi-Wan woke up screaming, long peals of anguished sound. He was thankful Anakin wasn't there at the moment to…hear him screaming.

He fingered the scar on his belly. _It's over,_ he told himself. _The pain is over._ It was just a dream. Just a shadow of the incident cast over his mind. Nothing more.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{

Anakin thrust his finger towards the door next to Palpatine.

"Go."

"Anakin-"

"I don't care why you came, just get lost."

"Anakin, I understand you are angry –"

"Damn straight I'm angry!"

"I'm your friend, Anakin. Listen to me."

Anakin slammed his fist down on the table.

"You stopped being my friend the minute you approved these experiments!"

He headed towards the open door.

But Palpatine grabbed him by the arm. He had much more strength than Anakin expected a man his age to have. Anakin fought against his grip, but, surprisingly, Palpatine was the stronger. He pulled him aside and held him against the wall.

"Get your hands off me!" Anakin barked.

"Now, you listen to me," he said. All the fatherliness had left his voice.

"Zan Arbor and I made an agreement. You are mine now, do you understand?"

He leaned closer to Anakin. His long fingers started to tighten around his shoulders, so tight it hurt.

"I will do with you what I please. And if you continue to behave this way, there will be _consequences_."

A deep chill filled Anakin, an evil feeling. He recognized it well. The dark side.

"You're Sith," he realized out loud.

Palpatine nodded. His fingers slid up his shoulders and around his neck. They tightened and crushed his throat. A jolt of panic came when he realized he could no longer breathe.

"Stop," Anakin begged. "I can't breathe-"

"Look at you," Palpatine said as Anakin struggled to pry his fingers from his throat. "Spent a few months in the facility, and it made you as weak as a child." He dropped Anakin to the ground, coughing and struggling to gain his breath back.

He pinched Anakin's arm. "You've barely got any muscle left."

Palpatine collected himself and turned to leave.

"I'll be back to take you in a few days. In the meantime," he said. "I've asked to have you isolated from the others."

Anakin sat whimpering in the corner after Palpatine left. His body became very hot, and he sat beside the metal coffin bathed in the heat of fear.

What was he going to do?


	13. Chapter 13

How many days was a few days? Anakin wondered as he lay on the floor, trying to decide when Palpatine would be back.

He though about life as a Sith, life in the dark. Would he ever grow accustomed to that coldness? He didn't want to become that. He probably wouldn't have a choice.

Or did he?

He stuck his hand into his tunic and pulled out the scalpel he'd smuggled out of the doctor's office.

He wondered what death was like.

Maybe it was like going to sleep. Maybe it was like a million tiny lights all around you going out one at a time until you were left in darkness.

He was about to find out. He didn't want to die: but it was the only way out. He was going to die on the floor of the white, padded room.

He opened his tunic and put his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating. He planned to think of Padme in his final moments of life. That would ease his passing.

_Just do it quick, _Anakin told himself. _Don't think about it, just do it. _

He stuck the scalpels' blade into his chest. A blob of blood bubbled out of the incision.

It wasn't as quick as he'd anticipated. Nor as painless.

Cold sparks crept up his spine. Why wasn't he dying? What was taking so long? Maybe the blade wasn't long enough, and didn't reach his heart.

Oh, Force, how it hurt! He pulled it out and stuck in a different place on his chest. The pain was unbearable. He tried to focus past it.

The nurse came in then, and saw all the blood welling up at the tip of the knife.

"Oh, no you don't!" she said, and snatched the blade from his hand. The pain stopped as soon as the blade left.

"It's not half an inch long!" she said. "Did you honestly think you could kill yourself with this?"

The nurse bandaged up Anakin's chest, chastising him while she did so, telling him he had her scared to death. She sat him down, gave him chocolate milk, and told him the doctor was going to have a _very _serious chat with him.

"Don't you _**ever **_try anything like that again," she said.


End file.
